


regrettable repairs

by klefaeries



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, F/M, Gunslinger!McCree, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, artificer!reader, loosely dnd inspired, u gave mccree vibrating fingers on accident, what did you think was gonna happen?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klefaeries/pseuds/klefaeries
Summary: McCree breaks his arm for the third time this month. You have had enough.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	regrettable repairs

**Author's Note:**

> for as horny as i am for my various au's of mccree im shocked it took me this long to write something for him
> 
> so this is part of that weird "ow meets dnd" porn oneshot series i've been slowly churning out. it's pretty basic so even if you don't know what dnd is, this should still be enjoyable. i know it's not really touched on, but mccree is the gunslinger subclass for fighter, and you're an artificer (basically magical tinkerer), and his prosthetic arm would actually be considered another weapon in my homebrew because it does a lot more than uhhhhhh. vibrate lol 
> 
> mccree has an oral fixation and 100% would rather pleasure his partner by sucking them off/eating them out before they even focus on him don't @ me

“Dammit, Jesse McCree, this is the  _ third  _ time this month you’ve needed repairs! Will you stop running headfirst into danger every single time you go on a quest?!”

You glower at the aforementioned Jesse McCree with your hands placed on your hips, eyes narrowed and fingers itching to grab a wrench from your tool belt and just beat the shit out of him. 

McCree, at least, has the decency to look somewhat sheepish as he waves with the one hand that’s still attached to his body, lips curled in a nervous smile. 

The gunslinger is still dressed for the road even though he’d been back in town for a couple of days by now. Wearing his usual leather overcoat, tanned trousers and stupidly big belt filled with ammo for his precious revolver, and a silly wide-brimmed hat, McCree is all charm as he gives you a wink that never works the way he wants it to.

“Aw, is that yer way of sayin’ yer concerned for me?”

“Not for  _ you _ ,” you huff as you turn your back to him and survey your finished work orders, which probably aren’t as organized as they could be. A metal arm, crafted from the finest mythril and glowing softly with a bright blue light where the joints of the fingers connect, is easily found amidst the scraps of metal and gadgets waiting to be picked up by their commissioners. You grab the arm and hold it as delicately as a mother holds a newborn child, spinning back around and giving McCree dagger eyes again.

“I am concerned for  _ this _ .”

It’s the greatest thing you’ve ever made. A fully functional prosthetic limb, imbued with enchantments that allow the machinery inside to obey the wearer’s thoughts and act just as a natural flesh-and-blood limb would. You have spent hundreds of hours tinkering and improving the beautifully crafted arm, taking it apart and putting it together piece-by-piece so often that you know its metal fingers better than your own.

And Jesse fucking McCree keeps breaking it.

“Three times!” you repeat, cradling the arm to your chest. “In one month! That’s a new record! You’ve only had it for a year and how many times have you needed me to fix it up?”

“I’ve...lost count,” McCree admitted, scratching at his stubbly beard and shuffling his books awkwardly on the wooden floor of your shop.

“Well, I sure as hell haven’t. And I’ve got the receipts for every single time I’ve worked on it. Want me to hand them to you so you can count?”

“I don’t know why yer spittin’ like a red dragon,” McCree grumbled. “I always pay ya a lil’ extra…”

“That’s not the point!” You roll your eyes and walk around the counter, holding the arm out to him even though it pains you to give it back when you know it’s just going to return to your shop dysfunctional again. At least this time it hadn’t been bitten in half by an owlbear. Just thinking about all the fine details that had been ruined that time still makes you shudder.

“I’m real sorry, sweetpea,” he mumbles sincerely as he takes the arm from you. “You know I always appreciate all the hard work ya put in fer me.” 

You sigh and rub your forehead. Then rub your forehead with a handkerchief when you realize your fingers still have grease and oil on them from...something. It could be anything in your workshop, really.

“Just put it on and make sure it’s still synced up with you. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be, but I’d rather fix any other problems while you’re here now.”

McCree nods and tucks the arm under his shoulder, using the free hand to roll up the sleeves of his coat and shirt. You try not to oogle the tanned muscles hiding beneath the fabric. It’s hard to ignore how...attractive McCree is, even if he does always break the stuff you make for him. 

His left arm ends in a nub at the base of his elbow. As always, part of your heart falters when you see the scar tissue and deep gouges in his flesh that will never go away. You’ve never asked what happened to him—and he’s never offered to tell you. 

All you know is that one day, a year ago, Jesse McCree walked into your shop, called you the best artificer around, and paid you ten thousand gold pieces to make him a new arm. 

He connects the metal arm to his elbow and the familiar whir of its gears coming to life fills the air. The mythril shimmers with the blue glow of its arcane enchantments as he gives the fingers an experimental wiggle. “Everythin’ appears to be in working order,” he reports, giving you a thumbs up.

“Of course it is. I’m the best artificer around, remember?” You can’t help but give him a prideful grin, patting the tools on your belt. “Now hold on while I find what you owe me. I can’t remember off the top of my head. Since, you know, every time it’s different because every time you break it in ways only the gods know how.” McCree lets out a quiet chuckle as you head back behind the counter and leaf through dozens of payment records and commission details, trying to find the one you wrote up for this specific repair job. 

When you can’t find the receipt, but instead stumble across diagrams you thought you’d thrown away, you frown. 

When there is an odd buzzing sound coming from behind you accompanied by McCree’s muffled curse, that confused frown turns into one of horror.

“Uh…what’s goin’ on?” 

You spin around and meet McCree’s deep brown eyes. He’s staring at you with one eyebrow perfectly raised, holding his mechanical hand up with the fingers splayed out. The tips of every digit—every single one—are vibrating ever so slightly. 

You swallow, glancing down at the blueprints you had  _ sworn  _ you’d burned. The blueprints you had made partly out of a joke. The blueprints you had made partly because you were frustrated. The blueprints you had made because, undoubtedly, you wanted to fuck Jesse McCree more than you wanted to beat his head in with a wrench.

Your cheeks feel hotter than a forge’s fire, and judging by the way he’s looking at you with flames of his own in his eyes, he knows what you did.

“Well, uh, you see, I…” You clear your throat with as much dignity as you can muster, standing tall and firm as you meet McCree’s eyes. “...seem to have given you the wrong upgrades.”

“Hm. Is that so?” He takes a couple of steps towards the counter, a crooked little grin spreading across his lips. “And why’s it that these here ‘wrong upgrades’ are just...vibratin’ fingers?”

_ Oh, gods preserve me, this is how I die. _

“Y-you know,” you laugh nervously, shoving the blueprints into the waste bin below your work desk. “I guess I...thought maybe you would want to give yourself a...massage?”

When his face lights up with pure, utter glee, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“And just what kinda  _ massage  _ were you thinkin’ about?” he purrs, crossing the threshold and coming behind the counter, so that he’s just mere inches away from you and the only escape you have is hopping over the counter and sprinting out of the door.

“Oh, fuck it,” you snarl as you come to terms with the circumstances of the last few minutes, and you kiss him.

You lunge forward and yank him down by the collar of his coat, smashing your mouth against his. McCree makes a surprised sound in the back of your throat as he stumbles against you, a little breathy gasp escaping his lips as they find themselves pressed against yours. His arms waste no time in sliding around your waist, holding you tightly as he opens his mouth and slides his tongue against your lips. His beard tickles against your cheeks. Your mouth parts and his tongue darts in—he tastes like cigars and whiskey, exactly how you always imagined him to taste—and time stops existing as McCree kisses you like a starving man.

When you two break apart, your lips feel bruised and your breath is coming out in short bursts. McCree’s gazing down at you with desire in his eyes so raw that it brings a flame of hunger burning in your lower belly. “Oh, darlin’,” he hums low as he grazes your ear with his mouth, nibbling on your earlobe. “You have got no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss ya.”

“Lock the door,” you command with a breathy moan when his hands slide down to your waist and give your ass a hopeful squeeze, “and you can do a lot more than that.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

McCree practically sprints to the door and locks it, putting up the “closed” sign in the window and pulling down the shutters so that you have total privacy. By the time he’s rushed back to where you stand behind the counter you’ve already shrugged off your apron and tool belt. McCree yanks you to him and kisses you again while pressing you up against the desk; hard, fast, unrelenting as his hands work deftly on unbuttoning your trousers, and shoving your shirt up and over your head. When he breaks away once again, this time there’s a thin line of saliva connecting your panting mouths, and you can’t deny how fucking hot it is.

You shudder when he takes the mound of your breast in his left hand—the hand you’ve spent so long meticulously repairing over and over again—and begins to knead at it through the thin fabric of your bra. His thumb skims over your nipple and for just a millisecond, the digit vibrates against you. You let out a yelp at the brief sensation and squirm against him, grinding your hips as his right hand slips between your underwear and begins to slide down.

“W-wrong hand,” you complain, glaring at him even as your mouth threatens to moan, and McCree smirks victoriously.

“Gotta tell me what to do, honeybee,” he croons as he yanks your bra off, letting your breasts fall into his hand. The cold metal of the prosthetic fingers makes you shiver as they ghost along the supple flesh. His right hand makes its way to your clit and he pinches the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger, making you cry out in an obscene voice.

“Sh-shit…!”

You bite your lower lip when his mouth suddenly envelops your other nipple, his tongue swirling around it languidly as he sucks on your breast. Every finger on your other breast is now vibrating, rubbing and massaging and caressing. Your heartbeat is speeding up. You’re getting wet, and he knows it, as his entire right hand is currently fooling around in your underwear and teasing your clit and cunt with alternating fingers.

Pathetic moans drip from your lips as you shake your head, growling out as assertively as you can muster, “Fuck me with your left hand, dammit!”

“Yes, ma’am,” McCree chuckles around the flesh of your breast, lifting his head up and removing his hand from your tits. He slides his other hand out from between your legs and before you know it, your panties and trousers are completely gone, leaving you fully naked in front of him.

You were not going to tell him that this exact image has been in your head many a night while you had some alone time.

“You’re beautiful,” McCree murmurs with an earnest sigh as his eyes drink in the sight of you before him. Your breath hitches and you feel your face flush, turning away to avoid his gaze.

“Shut up and keep touching me,” you mutter.

“Hold yer horses!” McCree laughs. He suddenly wraps his right arm around your waist and lifts you up onto your desk, using his other hand at the same time to sweep everything out of the way. You begin to protest, but the words quickly evaporate into thin air when he kneels down in front of your legs and pries them apart very slowly. 

He starts to press kisses against the insides of your thigh, making a trail further and further down. His tongue licks at the sweat accumulating along your skin, glancing up at you for approval. You let out a strangled groan and bat his stupid hat off of his head so you can see his stupidly handsome face properly, running your fingers through his brown messy locks. His hair is surprisingly soft.

“Ya know,” McCree purrs as he lowers his face to the conjecture between your legs, left hand hovering just above the mess of curls found there, “I always wondered how you’d taste.”

And then Jesse McCree begins to eat you out.

His mouth encases your entire clit, teeth scraping gently and tongue darting to and fro as he sucks at it. His right hand hoists one of your legs over his shoulder as his left one begins to dance at your slit, the vibration turning on in his fingers. You cry out and grasp the sides of his head with both hands, moaning lewdly when the shaking digits begin to dip in and out teasingly of your cunt. The flames in your belly begin to grow hot again as pleasure ripples slowly down your legs, toes curling as you grind your cunt against his face.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimper when two of the cold metal fingers slide all the way in, prodding your pussy’s walls. The vibrations, paired with McCree’s tongue licking your clit, are almost  _ too  _ good. 

And then he adds a third finger, pumping all three in and out like a blacksmith pounding an anvil. He reaches into you so  _ deeply  _ that it almost feels like he’s going to touch your womb. You arch slightly as another wave of ecstasy comes over you, mouth now beginning to loll open slightly as you pant. “More…!” you almost beg, digging into his scalp and grinding against his mouth again. “More!”

McCree complies. But not before removing his slickened fingers from your cunt and giving your clit one last suck, much to your disappointment. You whine in the back of your throat, glaring half heartedly through half lidded eyes, before he places the thumb of his mechanical hand on your clit.

And turns the vibrations on again.

Your eyes shoot wide open at the sensation. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. He’s rubbing, teasing, squeezing you with his fingers as his tongue darts in between your folds, snaking into your pussy with a greedy growl. His beard itches and tickles and rubs against your cunt in ways that makes your thighs tremble. McCree’s tongue is hot and wet and too fucking good as it fucks you relentlessly, making downright pornographic slurping sounds in the process. He pumps his fingers against your aching clit, rubbing so fast you can’t tell where he begins. Your skin is on fire. Your mind is a goopy mess. 

And he just keeps going faster, ruthlessly precise. He devours you. He feasts on your juices and fondles your sensitive nerves with a pace almost inhuman. Your senses are filled with the entirety of him, and you begin to see white spots vision.

You cry out over and over again, taking fistfuls of his hair and grinding into his face as much as you can, desperate for more. More. More! It’s too much, but it’s not enough, and then it’s too much again, and you—

“Cum for me, darlin’,” McCree rumbles against your cunt, though the sensuous tone in voice is fairly muffled. But then he murmurs your name, hot and sharp and piercing your desire like a bullet.

It’s enough to end you.

“ _ J-Jesse _ !” you all but scream as you come undone, back arching fully like a cat and toes curling as a wicked wave of ecstasy roils through your entire body. He moans from between your legs as he catches every drop he can, giving one last suck before slowly pulling his head away and turning it up to look at you.

His face is a mess. Your climax is all over his mouth and in his beard, making his skin shine wetly. The obscene sight is almost enough to make you cum again. Almost.

You’re panting, shaking, trembling. Your body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and also nothing at all. 

_ Well, shit,  _ you think as you try not to fall into a crumpled heap onto the floor,  _ there’s no way I can go back to toys now that I’ve had the real thing. _

“You alright, doll?” McCree asks as he rises to his feet, reaching out and wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you. The concern on his sex-covered face almost makes you laugh.

“No,” you rasp, reaching for the buckle of his pants with trembling hands that you don’t quite have any control over at the moment. “But you know what’ll make me feel better?”

He smirks, bringing his face close to yours, and you can smell the sour-sweet pungence of your arousal on his breath. It sends a delicious thrill up and down your spine. “Round two?” he guesses as he licks his lips, eyes flashing dangerously.

“You’re damn right. Now hurry up and help me get your pants off. You’re overdressed.”

McCree lets out a riotous laugh and as your fingers grace the fabric of his trousers, you feel quite the impressive bulge waiting to be freed. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees as he begins to unfasten the buckle of his belt, groaning slightly when you greedily shove your hands inside and grasp his hard cock still sheathed within the confines of his undergarments. “So does this,” he rasps in a voice thick with excitement, “mean I get a discount on everythin’ from now on?”

You pause, raising an eyebrow and tightening your grasp around his clothed cock ever so slightly, earning a panting whimper from the gunslinger. And then you laugh, rolling your eyes and patting his bulge almost condescendingly.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Jesse McCree. Never ask me something so stupid again unless you want me to weld your balls together.”

“...yes ma’am,” he squeaks.


End file.
